“Behind me there are already so many memories (...) Lots of memories, but no point in remembering them, and ahead of me a long, long road with nothing to aim for ... I just don't want to go along it.”

“So many memories and so little worth remembering, and in front of me — a long, long road without a goal...”

“Nothing behind me, everything ahead of me, as is ever so on the road.”

“Already, I know that all of this will stay with me forever. It'll haunt me, but I also fear it will make me feel grateful. I say fear because at times I really don't want this to be a fond memory until it's over. I also fear that nothing really ends at the en. Things just keep going as long as memory can wield its ax, always finding a soft part in your mind to cut through and enter.”

“I'm always going to be with you, you know. As long as you remember me, I will exist. Memory is a form of existence, life after death.”

“I don't remember anything about that summer because I existed in a lonely fog of memories, longing, and rejection.”